


Role Reversal

by elizaye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Sam Winchester, Dreams, First Kiss, Heaven, Human Castiel, M/M, Manipulation, Prompt Fic, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has had a lot of trouble sleeping lately. Because when he sleeps, he dreams. And when he dreams, he’s back in Hell again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this fic is incomplete and will only be continued if/when I have inspiration for it.

Castiel has had a lot of trouble sleeping lately.

And by “a lot of trouble sleeping,” what he really means is that he hasn’t slept a full night since he dug his way out of his own grave.  What sleep he does get isn’t restful at all.

Because when he sleeps, he dreams.  And when he dreams, he’s back in Hell again.

He’s surrounded by screams, pleas for mercy, the stench of burning flesh.  The air’s so saturated with blood that he can practically  _taste_  the metallic flavor of it.  He’s always the one holding the whip, the one dealing the blows, but it isn’t any better than being on the receiving end, not really.  Sure, there’s physical relief, but the fact that he  _enjoys_  it sometimes is enough to make him sick to his stomach other times.

And when he wakes, it’s always too cold— _Earth_  is too cold after the raging fires of Hell.

John’s voice startles him out of his thoughts—“Son, you okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes.  He gets to his feet.  “Where’d uh, where’d James go?”

“Grocery run,” John says.  “Look—Cas, while he’s out, I have to tell you.  I don’t like the look of that woman—Amelia.  Keep an eye on her, all right?”

“Got it.”

“Good.  I’m heading off, found a hunt about three hundred miles west of here, but… you boys need anything, call.”

Castiel nods.  “Yep, sure will.  Thanks, John.”

John Winchester quirks a smile at him before stepping out of the house and heading out toward his truck.  Castiel moves to stand in the doorway so he can watch him pull out of the salvage yard.  John’s a great hunter, extremely reliable—Castiel can pretty much always count on him for information on hunts.

Castiel stays in the doorway for a few minutes after John’s car disappears and catches sight of the blue ’72 Buick Skylark pulling onto the drive.  Leave it to James to keep Dad’s car in perfect shape.  Castiel has never been much into cars—if it gets him from point A to point B, it’s perfect.  James apparently has “style.”  Though Castiel has to admit that the car looks nice.

“Hey, thought you were supposed to be catching up on sleep!” James calls as he gets out of the car.  Castiel steps out of the house, but James gestures for him to stay put.  “I got it, I got it,” he says, moving around to the trunk.

Castiel goes out to him anyway, takes two bags of groceries.

“Dude, I’m not your kid brother anymore.  I can take care of myself.”

Castiel shrugs.  “I’ve been gone for a while.  Let me feel like I haven’t become completely obsolete, all right?”

James gets a sad, sharing look in his eyes, and Castiel hurries away with the bags, gets into the kitchen and puts them on the counter.  James follows a minute later with the other two bags and starts putting things away in the fridge.

“I drove by John on his way outta town,” James comments.  “Did he say anything to you?”

“Only that he doesn’t like Amelia.”

James rolls his eyes.  “Yeah, he wouldn’t like her.  Cas,  _you_  trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

Apparently something’s wrong with his tone, because James turns to face him, frowning.  “Okay, but…?”

Castiel is nonplussed.  “But what?”

“There was clearly a ‘but’ coming after that.  What, you got something against Amelia, too?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says, shaking his head.

Amelia has been living with James at the salvage yard for about three and a half months—almost the entire time that Castiel was in Hell.  According to James, he couldn’t have made it this long without her, and for that, Castiel is thankful.  But even before John pointed it out, Castiel had felt that there was something about her, something  _off_.  Something that reminds him a bit too much of blood and knives and black smoke.

James shakes his head.  “Look, think whatever you wanna think, man, but I owe my sanity to her.  I swear—”

“You’ve said this before, James.  I know.”

“Would it kill you to call me Jimmy?  James sounds so…  _stuffy_ , and  _formal_.”  He pauses.  “Then again, that’s just you, isn’t it?” James rolls his eyes again and goes back to sorting out the groceries.

Castiel smiles, because some things never change.  “James—” James lifts his head, the look on his face somehow expressing exasperation and affection at the same time, and Castiel huffs.  “Jimmy,” he corrects himself before continuing, “I think it’s about time I hit the road, too.”

Disappointment crosses James’s features.  “Cas, you haven’t been back for all that long.  And there’s still so much we don’t know about… about the Apocalypse, and Lilith, and… Christ, we only just finished a hunt—you almost got your  _heart_  ripped out.  You can’t just fuck off like this.”

“Of course I can.  I’d ask you to come with, but…”

“Cas, c’mon.  You can man home base with me.  Rest some more.  I know you haven’t been sleeping well.  If you’ve been sleeping at all, that is.”

Castiel shakes his head.  “No, I… I gotta stay on the move.  Can’t just sit around here, buried in books.  That was always more your style, wasn’t it?”

“Cas—”

“I’m going, James.  I’ll keep in touch.”

James clenches his jaw.  “Fine.  Fine, just… just leave me here.  I’ll be  _fine_.”

“I know you will be.”

And it’s true.  James has always been the one who could live on, lead a semi-normal life.  The past four months are proof of that.  Castiel on the other hand… he’s always known that he wouldn’t be able to move on, knowing that James was gone.

“You taking the Buick?”

“No, you can keep it.  We both know it’s better off in your hands, anyway,” Castiel answers.

James nods.  Then he says, resigned, “Cas, take care of yourself, okay?”

Castiel quirks a grin, but the look in James’s eyes says he sees right through it.  “You know I will,” Castiel says anyway, and then he’s heading out of the old house.

He selects a nondescript car from the junkyard and drives off the lot, gets to the highway.  He doesn’t have a specific destination in mind; he just knows that he has to keep moving.  Ever since Dad… ever since he traded in his soul for Castiel’s life, Castiel hasn’t been able to stay at the salvage yard for more than a few days at a time.

Figures that he’d come back just in time for Lilith to pop back up on the map.  According to James, she’d made herself pretty damn scarce while Castiel was gone.  Then again, this could all be related.  Castiel may have figured out how he got out of Hell, but he still has no idea  _why_ , and this “God has work for you” bullshit doesn’t fly with him.

A voice coming from the passenger seat startles him so badly that he nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.

“You drive a piece of shit, you know that?”

Castiel’s already got a gun pointed at the intruder before he even gets a good look at his face.  Dean.  The “angel”—of  _course_.  Just his fucking luck.

“Dude.  Put the gun down.”

Castiel angles his head so that he can look back and forth between the road and the angel with relative ease.  He doesn’t lower his firearm.  “Thought it couldn’t kill you.”

“Well no, it can’t.  But it hurts like a bitch to get shot in the face.”

Castiel relents and puts the gun away.  “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to tell you congrats on, y’know, making it out with all your bloody bits still intact.  You ain’t exactly Humpty Dumpty, but it still woulda been a pain in the ass to have to put you back together again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The witnesses.  Just saying that you guys handled it pretty well for a couple o’ humans who don’t know what’s going on.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.  “And you know about all this… how?”

Dean shrugs.  “I’m an angel.  I make it my business to know things.”

“Right, because angels are such notorious gossipmongers.”  Castiel shakes his head.  “If you knew about the witnesses, why didn’t you help?  You’re an angel—a warrior of God.  You’re supposed to fight evil.”  Dean opens his mouth to speak, but Castiel cuts him off—“Oh right, I forgot.  You’re not allowed to do a thing without Daddy’s say-so.”

“Hey, all of God’s creations have some degree of free will,” Dean says.

Castiel scoffs.  “Uh huh, sure.  Just as long as we fulfill our destinies, right?  What you’re saying makes no sense.  You come in talking destiny and God’s plan, but now you’re saying we can do whatever we want?”

“To  _some_  degree,” Dean says, and Castiel shakes his head.

“That’s bullshit, Dean.  You’re contradicting yourself.”

Dean shakes his head but doesn’t argue, and Castiel drops the subject.  He doesn’t have the patience to deal with an angel that’s clearly confused about the difference between predestination and free will.

“You said you’re in a vessel.  So who are you possessing?”

“Why does that bother you so much?”

“Because you’re taking away someone’s life.  Sure, you’re an angel.  But you know what other things possess human beings?  Demons.  So forgive me if I don’t approve of this  _vessel_  business.”

“He prayed for this.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

Dean’s quiet for a long moment.  Finally, he says, “His name was Jensen.  His family owned a ranch in Dallas.  He lived there with a brother, a sister, and his parents.”

Castiel knows an olive branch when he sees one, and though this isn’t really anything, Dean didn’t have to share this information—this is him taking a step back.  But Castiel’s still irritated, angry with him, and he decides to push farther, test the angel’s limits.  “Great.  So does he get to go back to his family when you’re done wearing him, or will he die once your heavenly presence is gone?”

“I don’t understand why you’re pissed at me.  I haven’t done anything to you.”

“Answer my question.”

Dean frowns.  “It depends on what he wants.  If he wants to stay on Earth and live out the rest of his years, I’ll heal the wounds he sustained while he traveled with me.  I don’t think that’s what he wants, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because his family is dead.”

This gives Castiel pause.  A dead family—he can imagine wanting to give up if he’d lost everyone who’d ever mattered to him.  “How?”

“Natural causes,” Dean answers, shrugging.  And then he adds, casually, “Jensen was born in 1878.”

“18—” Castiel starts to repeat, but he stops himself.  “You’ve been using him for _over a century?_ ”

“He’s been unconscious for most of it,” Dean says.  “I let him up now and then to blow off some steam.  He doesn’t mind.  I mean, hey.  It’s not a bad story to take back up to his family when he does get to Heaven.”

Castiel’s silent after that, thinking it over.  No matter how he looks at it, he can’t help but feel sorry for this guy.  To be trapped as a spectator in his body for over a hundred years, having to know that everyone you knew was long dead… he can’t imagine that.  He can’t imagine being okay with that.  And the only thing he takes from it is that Dean must be lying.

“You’re still angry with me,” Dean observes with a frown.  “What’s your problem?  I know for a fact that you’re not always pissed.”

Castiel just shakes his head.  “Get out of the car.”

“You call  _this_  a car,” Dean says, like he can’t believe it, and Castiel instantly hears the words in James’s voice.  This is not okay.

“I don’t want you here.  Can you just go?”

“Dude.  Can you not be so bitchy?”

“Get out of the car,” Castiel repeats.  “I’m done talking to you.”

Dean doesn’t do his magic disappearing act, and when Castiel glances at him, he sees that Dean’s  _angry_.  The angel reaches forward and places a hand on the dashboard, and Castiel feels the steering wheel turn, moving his hands with it even though he struggles to keep them still.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands, giving up control over the wheel and glaring at Dean.

The car slows to a stop on the shoulder.  “I’m sick of you being all pissy, so you and I are gonna sit here and figure out what the hell your problem is,” Dean says, the tone of his voice brooking no argument.

He feels phantom flames licking at his arms and chest when Dean says the word, and god, Castiel’s sick of this.  “ _That_  is my problem,” he says.  “Hell.”

“Okay…?” Dean says, clearly not understanding.  “But you’re not there anymore.  I brought you back—you’re safe now.”

Yeah.  Castiel’s safe now, and he  _hates_  it.  “I was dead,” he says.  “I was in Hell.  And I was supposed to stay there.  I shouldn’t be here right now.  Fuck, I _deserved_  to stay there.”

Anger flares up in Dean’s—Jensen’s? Christ, this shit is so messed up—eyes again.  “Oh, and what, let yourself get turned into a demon?  Into one o’ those things you hunt?  I don’t think so, Cas.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“You haven’t earned it,” Castiel says unreasonably—really, who is he to judge the worth of a creature that’s at least a hundred years older than him?  But damn it all, he just doesn’t  _care_.  “It’s Castiel or Singer to you.”

“What are you—fucking  _I_  haven’t earned it?   _Me?_   I was the one who dragged your sorry ass outta Hell, you ungrateful son of a bitch!” Dean explodes.  “It wasn’t a cakewalk, you know.  We lost half our garrison trying to get to you.  I almost lost—”

The angel’s voice cuts off here, his face contorting into this horrible amalgam of fear and fury, and Castiel realizes that maybe he really  _should_  be afraid of provoking this creature.

But Castiel’s always been excellent at doing what’s worst for him, so he goes and pokes the bear.  “Almost lost what?”

The look on Dean’s face definitely reads as sorrow now, most of the anger draining away in the face of a possibility that is clearly unthinkable, and Castiel wonders what, other than God, could mean  _that_  much to an angel.  He’s read the Bible, after all—mostly as a potential source of useful lore and sometimes just for amusement—and its depictions of angels are usually as these emotionless beings, doing a whole lot of smiting.

“My brother.”

Castiel’s brow furrows.  “I uh, thought you were all brothers.”

“Yes, technically, but…” Dean sighs.  “We’re closer than is normal for our kind.  In the early days after Lucifer’s fall, a demon nearly killed him.  I was the one who got him outta that tight spot.  We’ve been looking after each other ever since.”

Castiel takes this in and then refocuses on the matter at hand.  “Well you shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he says.  “If you’d never come for me, your garrison would still be intact, and your brother wouldn’t have been in danger.”  Dean looks like he’s getting mad again, but Castiel continues, “I just want you to tell me why.  And don’t give me some stupid, meaningless statement about God’s will.  I don’t  _care_  about God’s will, you got that?   _I don’t care_.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s without any trace of genuine amusement.  “You’ve got issues, Cas.”  As he says the nickname, his eyes flash at Castiel as though he’s challenging him to protest.  When Castiel says nothing, Dean finishes his thought, “You should be glad to be outta there.  Why do you have to question it?”

“Because nothing good ever comes without a price.”

These words shut Dean up, and they stare mutely at each other for a long moment.

Dean’s the one to break the silence.  “I can’t answer your question.  But what if I could prove you wrong?”

Castiel shakes his head, looking back out at the road.  “You can’t.”  That’s honestly what he believes.  Outside of his own family, the likelihood of another person giving something to him for free is extremely low.  That’s just humanity, really—humans are selfish.  That’s the way they are.

A dry, warm hand brushes his arm, and Castiel snaps back to reality, only to find that he can’t flinch away.  He’s able to turn his head, though, so he turns it to look at Dean.  The angel is staring at him intently, leaning closer, and holy _shit_  why can’t he move?

He opens his mouth to speak, but Dean’s hand comes up, two fingers pressing to his lips, and Castiel loses his voice.  He tries to turn his head away, but that hand shifts, cups his jaw to hold his head in place, and Castiel wonders fleetingly why Dean isn’t just using his freaky magical powers for that.  Dean’s thumb brushes over Castiel’s bottom lip, pulls back a little to part his lips, and Castiel feels his breath coming quicker.

“These lips,” Dean murmurs, eyes fixed on Castiel’s mouth.  His eyes flick up to meet Castiel’s, and he says, “Never been kissed before.”

Castiel lets his eyes fall shut to hide from Dean’s gaze.  He feels his cheeks heating up, because this is something no one asks about.  Everyone just assumes he knows his way around women, and he plays it off like he does.  But of course an angel would just  _know_.

“Pure in every way,” Dean breathes, and there’s something akin to awe in his voice, something that makes Castiel uncomfortable.  Castiel hears him shifting, and when he speaks again, Castiel can feel his warm breath fanning out over his cheek.  “I won’t take that from you without permission.”

Soft lips press against Castiel’s eyelids—first his left, then his right—and he feels like he’s been shocked.  Warmth spreads throughout his body, centering mostly on his chest, and he wonders if that is his own genuine reaction, or if it’s more of Dean’s angel powers.  But as Dean moves down his cheek, planting small, slow kisses along the way, Castiel finds that he doesn’t really care about authenticity.  The anticipation is  _killing_  him.

Dean stops at the corner of his mouth, and then his lips are gone, and Castiel _misses_  them.

“Dean,” he manages, and realizes that he has his voice again.

“‘m here,” Dean says, and his breath wafts over Castiel’s lips, and damn it, Castiel  _wants_.

He’s never been interested in the pleasures of the flesh, hasn’t ever had a sex drive, really.  James teased him about it when they were younger, but Castiel hadn’t taken it to heart.  Castiel does look at people, of course.  He knows what he finds attractive and what he doesn’t, but he’s just never felt the need to act on it before.

Figures that the first time he actually feels attraction and wants to do something about it, the person he’s drawn to isn’t even human.

But before he can think it over, before his brain can stop him, he’s whispering, “Dean, please.”

And Castiel feels for the first time the sensation of another pair of lips, smooth and pillowy, pressing against his own.  Dean’s thumb slips away, and his hand slides around to cradle the back of Castiel’s head, holding him in place—not that Castiel wants to go anywhere anytime soon.

Dean’s lips move slowly, light pulls at Castiel’s lips, and Castiel wants to lift a hand to touch Dean’s face, but he can’t.  He wants to open his eyes, but he doesn’t let himself—seeing Dean would make this too much, and he’ll have to stop.  He realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t want to.

Dean’s tongue glides along the seam of Castiel’s lips, flicks at the upper one, and Castiel feels his entire body  _shiver_  in response.

Then Dean’s backing away, and no, that’s not what Castiel wants, not at all.  But he opens his eyes, tells himself that the moment’s over.  He tries to lift his hands and succeeds, indicating that Dean’s finished.  Castiel bites back the feeling of disappointment.

“It’s not… always like that,” he says, a bit uncertainly.

“No.  It was your first kiss.  I wanted to make it good for you.”

Castiel swallows, finds his eyes lingering on Dean’s lips—full, smooth, and maybe a bit pinker than they were before the kissing.  He turns his head away, forcing his eyes to focus on the empty, open road to their left.

“That…  _was_ … good, for you, right?” Dean asks haltingly, and when Castiel looks at him, he’s wearing an uncharacteristically uncertain expression on his face.  Castiel quickly decides that he doesn’t like it.

“Yes, Dean.  Thank you.”

To his credit, Dean doesn’t go out of his way to emphasize that he’s not asking for anything in return, doesn’t try to say  _I told you so_.  “Yeah, no problem,” the angel says.  After a moment, he says, “Look, Cas, I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything.  I’ve got orders, all right?  You gotta understand.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Castiel concedes, because he was a good son, and he always—well, most of the time anyway—followed Dad’s orders.  “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Dean nods.  “Cas, I just—” he hesitates before continuing, “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but… stay with Jimmy, all right?  Don’t drift too far from him.  He’s gonna need you, and you’re gonna need him.”

“I’m a hunter, Dean.  I can’t just—”

“Then take him with you.  Before you were taken to Hell, I know that you two traveled together.  Someone else took care of the salvage yard then—they can do it again now.”

Castiel closes his eyes again.  “Dean—”

“No, look at me.”  Castiel obeys and is startled by the seriousness on Dean’s face.  “Stay with Jimmy.  I know you’ve heard this a thousand times, but… take care of him.  That’s all… it’s all I can say.”

Castiel blinks.  This is—this is a  _hint_  that Dean’s trying to give him.  Stay close to James.  His eyes widen.  “Amelia?”

Dean winks, even as he says, “No.  This has nothing to do with her.  I have to go, now.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Bye, Cas.”

Castiel distinctly hears the sound of wings flapping, and then Dean’s gone.

He stays sitting where he is for a few minutes longer, thinking over Dean’s advice.  If he’s reading the angel correctly, there really  _is_  something wrong with Amelia.  He hopes to god that there isn’t, because it’ll break James’s heart.

Finally, Castiel turns the key in the ignition, and the engine starts up.  He pulls onto the road again, makes a U-turn, and heads back the way he came.

And if he presses a hand to his lips, remembering that new sensation, no one has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt:
> 
> Oh me, oh my. Umm, well, I do have a thing for reversed roles, like, angel!Dean and hunter!Cas? Maybe around season 4, when they meet or something? Anything? I’m not really good at this. You’re taking my prompting cherry. Please be gentle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't a good little soldier.

If someone had told him a few days ago that time travel was possible, Castiel would have scoffed and called him—or her—crazy. But the past few days have been insane for him, and he doesn’t even feel like he can tell James, not since he found out that “Amelia” was just Ruby in a new meatsuit.

“So are you _ever_ gonna talk to me again?” James asks from the passenger seat.

Castiel stares resolutely at the road.

“It won’t be a good thing on hunts if we can’t communicate, y’know. One of us could get really hurt, or—”

“Damn it, will you just shut up and let me be mad at you for five fucking minutes?” Castiel snaps.

James is silent for about five seconds before responding with, “Cas, you already ignored me all day yesterday. I don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Yeah well, you didn’t trust me enough to tell me that Amelia was Ruby, so maybe I shouldn’t trust you with our destination,” Castiel says, and he sounds so fucking petty, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Look, Cas, I already tried to explain it to you, but you’re not listening.”

“Oh, I’ve been listening,” Castiel says. “But nothing justifies trusting a demon like that, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise. That’s all I have to say on the subject, so can we stop talking, now?”

James huffs but says nothing, and Castiel bites back the “sorry” on the tip of his tongue. Those are his views, and he will not apologize for them.

Ten miles down the road, the silence becomes suffocating, and Castiel finally breaks and says, “I’ve uh, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Yeah, okay,” James says, and it’d be stupid how relieved he sounds if Castiel didn’t feel the same way.

“I found out about what you were doing because I was with Dean, and he knew where to look for you. But uh, before that…” Castiel’s voice trails off as he tries to think of the best way to explain this. Then he says, “Y’know how in _Back to the Future_ , Marty gets sent back to the past and meets his parents?”

“Yeah,” James says slowly.

“That’s essentially what happened, except with less ‘fish under the sea’ and more demons and killing.”

“Enchantment under the sea,” James corrects after a minute, and Castiel shoots a glare in his direction that is totally ignored. “So you got sent into the past?”

“Yes. 1973.”

“But why?”

Castiel sighs. “I’m not even sure _I_ know,” he says, before going into the details.

* * *

When Castiel jolts awake from one of what have become the typical Hell nightmares, the first thing he sees is Dean leaning back in a chair, feet propped up on the left side of Castiel’s bed. James is asleep in the other bed when Castiel glances to his right, and after a moment, he says, “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?”

“You catch on quick, Cas,” Dean says, grinning.

Castiel sighs. “What do you want this time?”

“Y’know, I could really do without that attitude o’ yours.”

“How am I supposed to rest with you interrupting my sleep like this?”

Dean kicks his feet off the edge of Castiel’s bed and plants them on the ground so that he can lean forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Aw c’mon, Cas, you gotta admit you’d rather be looking at this pretty face than trapped in another one o’ those Hell-mares.”

Castiel doesn’t bother questioning Dean’s terminology. “Just—say what you came to say, and go. Is it another seal? Some more of ‘God’s work’ that you have for me?”

Dean doesn’t respond for a long while, taking the time to just stare, and Castiel shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny—it’s not often that he’s the observed rather than the observer. In addition, the last time Dean looked at him like this, they’d ended up kissing, and Castiel isn’t sure if that is what he wants.

“I can help you decide, if you’re not sure,” Dean says, and Castiel flinches.

“Stay out of my head.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m in your dream, Cas. Kinda hard to do that without being in your head.”

“Why are you here, Dean?” Castiel asks irritably. When Dean doesn’t answer, Castiel slaps himself in the face. It doesn’t hurt.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

“Trying to wake up.”

“Oh. Good try, but I’m keeping you under,” Dean says. “Your body needs the rest.”

“So does my mind,” Castiel says pointedly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Right, as though you were sleeping so restfully before I showed up.”

“So is that it, then? You’re here to check on me? No orders, no ‘stopping’ things?”

“I’m here to give you what you need,” Dean says.

Castiel is amused by this and says, “Yeah? And what exactly is it that you think I need?”

“Right now? I think someone needs to dislodge the stick up your ass.”

“Funny,” Castiel comments. “Just wake me up. We’re done here.”

Dean shifts, and between one blink of an eye and the next, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, body turned toward Castiel and leaning closer. “So you’re not curious at all, don’t want another taste?” he asks, voice low.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry, and Dean looks so fucking smug that he can’t _stand_ it, so against his better judgment, he grabs the angel by the shoulders and presses their mouths together. Their teeth clack against each other, and Castiel isn’t sure how to use his lips and tongue to make this work, and yeah, he definitely should have thought this one through.

But then Dean’s cupping his jaw and pulling back minutely to whisper, “Let me,” and Castiel stops trying so hard, lets Dean nip at his upper lip before licking his way inside, lets Dean teach him how to kiss, tongues sliding slowly against each other.

The kiss is electric, coursing through Castiel and making his blood sing, and he cards his hands—when did he even lift them?—through Dean’s hair, tugs on the short strands at the nape of his neck. Dean makes an approving sound low in his throat, and Castiel smiles even as Dean pushes him onto his back and crawls over him, straddling his hips.

Dean’s fingers play with the hem of Castiel’s shirt, but he’s looking Castiel in the eye, waiting for permission. So Castiel nods and lifts his arms, letting Dean drag the old t-shirt up and over his head. Shirt off, Dean takes another moment to stare, and Castiel would feel self-conscious, but Dean was apparently the one who raised him from Perdition, so really, Castiel has nothing to hide.

The fingers of Dean’s left hand graze over Castiel’s right hip, moving in some kind of pattern, and Castiel realizes that Dean’s tracing his anti-possession tattoo, inked slightly to the left of his hipbone.

“I drew this back onto your skin,” Dean says, soft.

His right hand trails up Castiel’s unblemished torso to his left shoulder, where he fits his hand to the handprint. Castiel shudders at the touch, at the possessive glint in Dean’s eyes.

“Y’know what this means?” Dean asks.

Castiel shakes his head, a little intimidated and—he might as well admit it to himself—a little aroused.

“Means I got to you first. Means you’re mine,” Dean says.

Castiel balks at this. “I’m not—” he starts to protest, but then Dean’s leaning down and interrupting him with another kiss. He knows what to do this time, what to expect, and when he bites down on Dean’s lower lip, tugging sharply, a surprised moan makes it way out of Dean’s throat.

Dean pulls away from Castiel’s lips then, dragging his mouth along Castiel’s jaw to his neck.

“Mine,” Dean breathes into Castiel’s skin, and it feels more searing, more like a brand than the angry scar on his shoulder. “They can’t take you from me,” Dean says next, and Castiel frowns, because it definitely doesn’t sound like Dean is talking to him.

Then Dean’s left hand presses against his chest, and Castiel feels a quick flare of pain, there-and-gone in a heartbeat. “Dean?” Castiel says, alarmed.

But the word has scarcely passed his lips when he wakes up—for real this time—the phantom touch of Dean’s lips still lingering on his neck. He sits up slowly, his own hand coming up to touch his chest. He doesn’t feel any different, and the pain is gone. What did Dean do to him?

“You okay?” James asks, and Castiel sees him sitting at the table, laptop set up in front of him.

“Yes, fine.”

“You were out for a good seven hours, man,” James informs him.

“Miraculous,” Castiel says, rubbing his chest. “Must have had something to do with the dream-stalking angel in my head.”

“Dean?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Only stopped by to ‘check up on me,’ whatever that means.”

“He didn’t say anything else?”

“No,” Castiel says. After a pause, he says, “I’m going to take a shower, and then we should get back on the road. We still have at least two hours to go before we hit Missouri.”

“Yeah, okay. Take your time,” James says.

* * *

Dean doesn’t show his face for the next few weeks.

In that time, Castiel and James hunt down a shapeshifter in Pennsylvania with a peculiar fondness for old horror films, a rogue werewolf in Oklahoma, and a buruburu in Colorado. It’s a miracle that Castiel manages to walk out of the last one with any dignity at all. Well, not so much a miracle as his own decision to lock himself up in a motel room and refuse to come out and embarrass himself while James figures the hunt out with some help from John.

The radio silence doesn’t seem to signal that anything’s wrong until it ends, with a man cornering Castiel behind a bar, away from James—or anyone else, for that matter. One moment he’s alone, the next a very tall man is standing in front of him, blocking his way.

Castiel instantly pulls his gun, but the man—judging by the way he appeared, angel?—backs up a step, eyes apologetic.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Sam.”

After a beat, Castiel nods. “Dean’s Sam.”

“Yes.”

Dean mentioned Sam by name when they were back in 1973, hunting down Azazel. Apparently Sam and Azazel had a longstanding rivalry-type thing, and Dean had been grateful to Castiel for putting a bullet in that bastard’s chest before he could do any lasting damage to Sam.

“Why are you here?” Castiel asks. “Where’s Dean?”

“He’s fine,” Sam says unconvincingly, and Castiel is suddenly worried.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m just stopping by to do him a favor. Is your brother around?”

“What do you want him for?” Castiel asks warily.

“Oh, it’s just that you can be found too easily because you’re always with your brother, so I need to mark him, too. And your car.”

“The car? Wait— _mark_ him?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking first confused, then annoyed. “Of _course_ Dean wouldn’t bother to explain anything to you. Look, he uh, he might have found out some big information. Like, really big. He wasn’t supposed to visit you that night—it was against orders. And dude, if he actually _told_ you, he’d probably be frying right about now.”

“So he’s not fine. He’s up in Heaven, being punished, isn’t he?” Castiel posits. Pain flickers over Sam’s face, which is answer enough. “What did he find out?” Castiel asks.

“He wouldn’t tell me. Said that they’d catch me too, if I knew,” Sam says. “But anyway, I really need to mark James so that he can’t be found, either. Dean said that that was really important.”

“He should be just inside,” Castiel says, gesturing toward the back door he’d exited through to get some fresh air.

“I’ll be right back, then,” Sam says.

“Wait—just—one thing. Will Dean be all right?” Castiel asks. He’s experienced torture in Hell, but he doesn’t know how punishments in Heaven would work. More of the same? Or do they get _really_ creative up there in the clouds?

“Yeah,” Sam says, this time with considerably more confidence. “It’s not the first time he’s gone against orders. I already went to—well, suffice it to say that I’m pulling some strings. The less you know, the better. Human minds are vulnerable,” he explains.

Castiel nods and follows Sam into the bar, but only because the angel really does seem worried about their safety, eyes darting around quickly.

As soon as they’re away from the club and in a secure location, Castiel is going to pick the angel’s brain a bit, find out what’s really going on up there. Why would angels ever disobey orders from God?

Unless… unless God isn’t giving the orders.

But then, that leaves the question: who is in charge of Heaven, and what does he want?

About ten minutes later, Castiel opens the door to their motel room and lets Sam and James walk past him before shutting it. He turns around to start asking questions, but Sam is holding up a finger and walking toward a bare part of the wall, moving two fingers in some design only visible to his eyes.

When he finishes with that, he goes over to the closet and pulls it open, one door sliding behind the other. He closes it again and pushes up his sleeve. A deep cut forms on his forearm, and Castiel steps toward him without thinking.

“Hey, wait—”

“It’s fine,” Sam says, pressing his fingers to the blood and drawing a sigil—this time one that is visible to Castiel and James. The cut vanishes, leaving the flesh on his arm as pristine as before, and Sam explains, “This is just a little bit of backup, in case the ward fails. You can ask your questions, now.”

“Okay first, what are we hiding from? And second, what the hell did you do to my car?” James demands.

“Angels. And I only printed the sigil into the hood of the car, under the paint. It won’t be visible,” Sam answers.

“But you’re an angel,” James says.

“Yeah. It’s—complicated.”

“Dean said something about ‘them’ taking me away from him. What did he mean?” Castiel asks, ignoring the accusing eyes that James turns on him.

“I don’t really know,” Sam admits. “Dean didn’t actually tell me anything. He just said that I need to keep both of you away from angels—not me, obviously. Just, the other angels.”

“So, what? Did he find out what ‘God’s plan’ for me was and decide for himself that he didn’t like it?” Castiel asks.

“Sounds like,” Sam says, frowning. “Did Dean say anything else to you?”

“Not really,” Castiel answers.

“I don’t get it,” James says. “If you guys are angels, then aren’t you following God’s commands? Why would Dean go against them? Unless he’s gone dark-side.”

Sam shakes his head vehemently at that. “Dean’s not—it’s more complicated than that.”

“Then un-complicate it for us,” James says.

“I’m not sure I can,” Sam says. “Dean’s convinced that God isn’t giving the orders anymore, hasn’t been for a long time. But he’s always been a little…”

“Broken?” James supplies.

Sam winces. “I was going to say eccentric, but yeah, he’s—the others have said that about him before.”

“So I can assume that you don’t receive your orders directly from God,” Castiel says.

“No,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Only four angels in creation have ever seen Him, and they don’t talk about Him. Not to us, anyway. We’re… not exactly high in the celestial chain of command.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” James says with a frown. “Heaven’s a bureaucracy?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sam says.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and Sam stiffens, eyes on the faux wood.

“I’m guessing you don’t want us to answer that,” Castiel says in a low voice.

Sam shakes his head and approaches the door himself, slowly. He presses a hand to the door, and Castiel reaches for his gun, even though he knows it wouldn’t do any good if an angel were to come and attack them.

Abruptly, Sam lets out a sigh of relief, startling both James and Castiel. Sam pulls open the door, and a short man—no, he’s actually not that short, only looks short because Sam’s vessel is so tall—smiles weakly, stepping forward to accept a quick hug.

“Sam,” he says.

“Another angel?” James asks.

“Yeah,” Sam replies, stepping back to let the man—angel—inside.

“Is there a whole list of exceptions to the ‘hide from angels’ thing, or is this the last guy?” James asks, rolling his eyes.

“There might be one more,” Sam says, shutting the door and pausing to press his hand to the surface a second time. His next words, said to the door, are clearly directed toward the new arrival. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

“Sam, it’s me,” the angel says smugly, and he has a British accent, for some reason. Castiel wonders if the angels adopt the native language of their vessel or if they bring their own accent with them. “Do you really think anyone could put a tail on me that I couldn’t shake off?”

“I can think of a few,” Sam says.

“Please. They wouldn’t waste that sort of energy on little ol’ me even if they knew I was around,” the angel says. “Now, to the point. We’ve got problems.”

Sam turns away from the door. “Tell me.”

“They’ve assigned Dean to Naomi.”

“Aw, shit.”

“What does that mean?” Castiel asks, looking between the two angels.

“It doesn’t—” Sam starts, but the other angel cuts him off.

“It means memory wipe and reprogramming. Drill to the head, excision, really nasty stuff.”

A chill runs down Castiel’s spine at the image of Dean taking a drill to the head, of Dean hanging from one of the racks that Castiel worked—this is one of the new scenes that has recently insinuated itself into Castiel’s nightmares of Hell.

“Balthazar,” Sam admonishes.

“What? Sugar-coating it won’t change anything. Now, I’ve spoken to Joshua, but he says that he’s intervened too many times on Dean’s behalf as it is, so we’re going to have to go higher.”

“Higher?”

“You’re going to have to find him, if you want to save Dean.”

“I’ve looked before,” Sam says.

“Find who?” James asks.

“Gabriel,” the angel named Balthazar replies. “He left Heaven a couple thousand years ago.” Turning toward Sam, he continues, “You know he’s always had a soft spot for you. If you’re desperate enough, I’m sure he’ll show his face.”

Sam shakes his head. “I promised Dean I’d keep an eye on them.”

“What use will that be when Heaven is through with Dean? He won’t even know why you’re looking after them. In fact, he very well may become one of the angels he’s so keen to keep from them,” Balthazar says.

Sam looks disturbed by this and turns away.

“What exactly are they going to do to him?” Castiel asks Balthazar.

“Oh, all sorts of terrible things,” Balthazar says, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t know Naomi’s procedure—no one does, really.”

“Who is Naomi, anyway?” James asks.

“She’s a specialist. Deals only with cases of extreme disobedience, which means the usual excuses won’t be able to get Dean out of this mess,” Balthazar says. He adds pointedly, “Which is why it’s time for us to go bigger.”

“Gabriel is more powerful than Naomi, then?” Castiel infers.

“Yes. The archangels are the most powerful beings in Heaven, so Gabriel will be able to get Dean out of there, by force if he has to,” Balthazar replies. “Won’t he, Sam?”

“Just—give me a minute, okay?” Sam says irritably.

“It’ll most likely take some time for you to find Gabriel, and we don’t know how much time we have before Naomi gets to Dean. I suggest you hurry,” Balthazar says.

“Is there anything we can do?” Castiel asks.

Balthazar stares at Castiel for a moment before laughing. “Sorry, no. Not a thing,” he responds. “You’re human. Essentially useless, especially up in Heaven. Down here, you can still swing a weapon and maybe last two seconds in a full fight against an angel, but up there? Up there, you’d have nothing.”

Castiel won’t be cowed by Balthazar’s words, though, and says, “Dean raised me from the pit—the least I can do is assist in retrieving him from Heaven.”

“Yes well, the best way for you to ‘assist’ is to stay put and not get noticed by any other angels,” Balthazar says. “Fortunately, not many of us have permission to be on Earth right now, but when Zachariah notices that you’ve fallen off the map, he’ll no-doubt dispatch a few drones to search for you.”

“So if most of you aren’t allowed to be on Earth, what are you and Sam doing here?” James asks.

“Oh, Sam and Dean are currently stationed on Earth, have been for the last few centuries.”

“And you?” Castiel prompts.

Before Balthazar can answer, Sam says, “Fine. Fine, I’ll look for him. There’s nothing else I can think of. Are you _sure_ he isn’t in Heaven?”

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “We all felt him leave. Don’t you think it’d be obvious if he returned?”

Sam shrugs. “You can never tell with archangels. They can mask their power, can’t they?”

“Just go, Sam.”

The tall angel hesitates, looking between James and Castiel indecisively.

“We’ll be fine,” Castiel says. “We’ve looked after ourselves our whole lives and done decently enough.”

“Yes, but you’ve never had angels on your tail before,” Sam says.

“You did the sigil thing, didn’t you?” James reasons. “It’s okay. They won’t be able to find us.”

When Sam still looks unsure, Balthazar lets out a long-suffering sigh and says, “I’ll stay with them, all right? I’ll stay until you return.” Sam gives Balthazar a small, grateful smile.

“Wait—we’re not on lockdown here, are we?” James asks.

“No. You can keep doing your thing,” Sam says. “Just be careful, and don’t go anywhere without Balthazar.”

“Great. So we have a big angel babysitter,” James says.

“Hey, this babysitter isn’t any happier than you are that we’re stuck together,” Balthazar says. To Sam, he says, exasperated, “Will you just go already? I won’t lose track of them, I promise.”

Sam nods and vanishes with the sound of flapping wings.

“Well, I’m going to shower and then sleep. I’ve had just about enough excitement for one night,” James says.

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” Castiel responds, more out of habit than anything else.

James disappears into the bathroom, leaving Castiel alone with Balthazar. Curious, Castiel crosses the room to the closet door and looks at the symbol that Sam used his blood to draw.

“So, the Righteous Man,” Balthazar says, out of nowhere. “I’d imagined you to be taller. And perhaps broader too.”

When Castiel turns back, the angel’s eyes are wandering over his body, like he’s taking measurements or something. Castiel doesn’t like it, but he spreads his arms out to either side anyway and says, “Well I’m sorry if this body doesn’t meet your standards, but at least it’s actually mine, which is more than you or any of your angel friends can say.”

“Yes, I’d heard that this was an issue with you,” Balthazar says, looking amused. “It might please you to know that this body is entirely mine. Let’s just say I had it custom-made.”

Castiel frowns. “If that’s allowed, why don’t all the angels do that?” When Balthazar only smiles in response, Castiel guesses, “Unless it isn’t allowed.”

“Got it in one,” Balthazar says, still smiling.

A pause. Then Castiel recalls, “You didn’t answer our question from before, about what you’re doing down here on Earth.”

“I… got out.”

“How?”

“In one of the last battles between Heaven and Hell, I may have faked my own death and severed the majority of my connection to Heaven. I can still hear my brothers if I listen carefully, but they can’t sense me anymore,” Balthazar says. “And before you ask, yes, I do still have contacts in Heaven, brothers who owed me favors. As for Sam and Dean, they haven’t turned me in because they’re just such good sports.”

Castiel lifts an eyebrow. “I assume you’re being facetious.”

Balthazar nods, chuckling, and sits in one of the two chairs in the room. “Honestly, when they first caught up to me, I thought they’d turn me in right away. When they didn’t, I figured it was because Dean had broken a fair share of rules himself. Now, I wonder if they knew the day would come when Dean pushed too far, and they’d need a wee bit of outside assistance.”

“I see,” Castiel says. He sits down on his bed and looks over at the other one. “Will you need a place to sleep tonight?” he asks.

“Angels don’t sleep,” Balthazar responds.

“So tonight you’ll just be…”

“Sitting here, watching you? Yes. It’ll be riveting.”

Castiel sighs. “Fantastic.”

* * *

Castiel wakes in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by a continuous wall of white—the walls must be round to make the room seem infinite, Castiel reasons, turning full circle and finding that they extend all the way around him.

When he finishes his turn, Dean appears, sitting against the wall with his eyes closed.

“Dean,” Castiel says, frowning.

“What, Cas again?” Dean laughs. “It’s all mind games with you, isn’t it?”

Dean thinks he is hallucinating, Castiel realizes, so he drops to his knees in front of the angel and reaches out, taking his hands. “It’s really me,” he says.

“Ah, ah, ah, you’re not pulling that again,” Dean says, eyes defiant.

But he doesn’t even try to pull his hands back, and it makes Castiel wonder how strong that Naomi is, strong enough that Dean is too scared to draw back. And Dean _is_ scared. Castiel isn’t quite sure how he knows that because on the exterior Dean seems as cocky as always, but Castiel can _feel_ the undercurrent of fear that Dean is experiencing.

Castiel shifts forward slightly, and Dean’s right eye twitches a little, like he’s resisting the urge to flinch. “It’s me,” he says, unsure how to convince Dean that he isn’t a figment of Dean’s imagination, or a double that Naomi created.

“Look, you’re wasting your time here. If you’re going to drill into my brain anyway, just do it already. I’m not going to give anything away,” Dean says.

“Dean, please, just—stop talking.”

At this, Dean clenches his jaw and looks away. Castiel releases Dean’s hands and shifts up into a squat, scooting forward and dropping himself in Dean’s lap. The angel looks up at him, startled, and Castiel presses a hand over his mouth before he can say anything.

“I don’t know how much the others know about me,” Castiel says, and that fact irritates the fuck out of him, but he has to let it go, at least for now. “But I do know how to prove that I’m me. Close your eyes,” he says, reaching one hand up to cup Dean’s cheek.

Dean stares at Castiel for a long moment, his expression a mixture of skepticism and doubt, but maybe there’s a little glimmer of hope, and that’s enough for Castiel.

He waits patiently until Dean closes his eyes, and then he leans forward, eyes sliding shut, and remembers. Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s left eyelid, so soft that they barely come into contact, and repeats the motion on the other eyelid. And then he slowly, slowly kisses his way down Dean’s cheek, pausing at the corner of Dean’s mouth. He draws back slightly, just hovering there, and it’s killing him to hold still, but damn it all, he _remembers_ , remembers every tiny detail, and he’s going to do this right.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, voice rougher than usual, and then their lips connect, and it aches so much, so perfectly, that Castiel might be _dying_ —

And then Dean’s pushing against Castiel’s chest, not hard, but enough that Castiel gets the hint and backs off. He doesn’t go far—doesn’t think he _can_ go far—pressing his forehead against Dean’s and sharing breaths.

“Shit, Cas, how can you even—how are you—what are you _doing_ here?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. “I thought I was dreaming at first, but… but this feels different from the other dreams.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Dean says, sounding frustrated, and when Castiel opens his eyes, he sees that Dean’s are still closed.

Castiel gives Dean a little nudge, and those green eyes flick open. “Talk to me,” Castiel urges. “I don’t know anything about Heaven, but if it’s a matter of applying reason, I can help you.”

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t just reason my way out of this. It’s—” he freezes cutting himself off.

“What?” Castiel asks worriedly. “What is it?”

“Shit. They’re going to use me to find you. You’re not—you aren’t with Sam, are you?”

“I haven’t even met him,” Castiel lies, and from this close up, he can see the instant that Dean figures it out. “But how can they use you to—”

“The bond,” Dean says, closing his eyes and thumping his head against the wall behind him. “You’re going to have to break it.”

“I wasn’t even aware that there _was_ a bond,” Castiel says, frowning. But as he speaks, his mind supplies the memory of Dean, whispering his ownership into Castiel’s skin, and okay, it seems he does know what Dean is talking about, then.

“It needs to be broken, either way. I’m sure you and your brother will be able to find a spell, something. Maybe call Winchester and ask for his help,” Dean says.

“The bond,” Castiel realizes. “Is that how I’m here right now? Am I—am I in _your_ mind?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. It’s—” he shakes his head again, huffing a disbelieved laugh. “I’m actually strapped to an operating table,” he says. “It’s been so long since I was last in an orchestrated dream that I forgot what it felt like. Fuck.”

“Where are you?” Castiel asks.

Dean gives him a look like he thinks Castiel’s lost his mind. “Heaven. Obviously.”

“Where in Heaven?”

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. You—you are _not_ coming here. That’s exactly what they want.”

“Dean. Tell me where you are.”

“You wouldn’t be able to navigate,” Dean protests.

“I’ll have help,” Castiel says.

“No.”

“Well, if it’s a bond that works both ways, maybe I won’t even need your help,” Castiel says, lifting his own right hand and pressing down on the handprint on his shoulder. Nothing happens, but Dean looks too wary for Castiel to be wrong about this, so maybe there’s something else that Castiel needs to do.

“You don’t know how to work that,” Dean says.

Castiel flashes a grin at Dean. “I’m smart. I can figure it out.” He keeps his hand there and concentrates on Dean, on the feeling of being near him, and suddenly there’s a brief but sharp tug just behind his navel, pulling him closer to Dean.

A groan breaks out of Dean’s throat, and he rips Castiel’s hand away from the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Learning,” Castiel responds. “I don’t think I can just wait around while you’re… strapped to an operating table, wherever you are.”

“Cas—”

“You pulled me out of Hell and left this mark on me, Dean. Don’t you think it’s right that I use your mark to get you out of Heaven, in return?”

“Cas, you can’t just waltz in here and think you’re gonna pull me out, just like that,” Dean says.

Castiel kisses Dean to silence his protests, pressing forward and taking his time, exploring Dean’s mouth with his tongue, and never in a million years would he have imagined that he’d have the power to distract an angel so easily, but he can feel the moment when Dean gives in, loses himself in sensation, and it’s a heady feeling, to hold such a powerful being in his thrall, if only for a moment.

He only backs off when the need to breathe becomes impossible to ignore, and Dean makes a sound that is suspiciously similar to a whine at the loss of contact.

There’s a low buzzing in the background now, and Castiel can’t tell where it’s coming from, but Dean’s eyes widen with an edge of panic.

“Dean?”

“Shit. Cas, get out of here,” Dean says, trying to push Castiel away from him.

“I don’t know how,” Castiel says—it isn’t as though he dream-walks on a daily basis. He keeps his hands on Dean’s shoulders though, staying close because he doesn’t think he can let go.

Dean opens his mouth to speak again, but then an extremely high-pitched siren pierces the air, and Castiel claps both hands to his ears. Dean’s face constricts like he’s in pain, and his hands fist in the material of Castiel’s coat, clutching blindly where moments before he’d still been trying to push Castiel away.

“Dean!” Castiel gets out, but he can hardly hear himself think over the shrill sound.

Dean’s shaking his head now, a wild look in his eyes, and Castiel leans forward, removes his hands from his ears, and grabs Dean’s head, holding it still to push their foreheads together.

“I will come for you,” he vows, and it feels like his eardrums are splitting and maybe he’s going deaf, but Dean is looking at him now, grounded by Castiel’s touch, so it doesn’t _matter_ —“I don’t know how, but I will find a way to take you away from here, Dean. I swear it.”

“No, Cas,” Dean whispers, anguished, and Castiel knows that he can’t hear it, yet he _can_.

He blinks, and then he’s waking up, staring at a familiar ceiling. There’s a near-painful ringing in his ears, proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

“Are you all right?”

The voice is unfamiliar—oh wait, that’s Balthazar’s voice, just muffled by the ringing. Castiel takes a moment, closes his eyes, and lifts his hand to his shoulder. _Dean_ , he thinks, and the tug in his stomach is less powerful, but definitely there.

“I’m fine,” Castiel answers, because he _is_ fine. Dean may be trapped in Heaven, but Castiel can find him, has a former resident or Heaven here to help him and a Dean-specific compass branded into his shoulder.

 _Hang in there, Dean_ , he prays silently, and he doesn’t know or even care if the other angels can hear it.

Then Castiel sits up and meets Balthazar’s wary eyes. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Not one bit.”

“Fantastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to post this as a separate fic and just make a series out of this, but FWB!verse was big enough already, and I think this will be neater, so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I left this for so long! I'm gonna try to tie it up in a timely manner, but my problem is that I'm not actually sure how I want this to end. Erm. I'll come up with something. No worries, though; the fic will definitely be finished, one way or another.

“So what you’re saying is that the bond between us is useless,” Castiel concludes, annoyed.

“Until we get you into Heaven, which I still think is quite possibly the worst idea you could possibly have come up in our current situation, yes. It’s useless,” Balthazar answers. “Bonds between angels can be manipulated from either end, but a bond between an angel and a human is exceedingly rare, and humans don’t have the… the correct _parts_ to manage their end.”

“Parts,” Castiel echoes, frowning.

“For lack of a better word.”

“Then we’re back to getting into Heaven,” Castiel says. “Do you know the way?”

“I’m an angel. Of fucking course I know the bloody way back to Heaven,” Balthazar snaps, irritable. “It’s suicide, though. Quite literally, for you. I’ve never heard of a human entering Heaven alive. You’d have to kill yourself to get there, and we’d have no way to get you back.”

“Humans can go in, but they can’t come back out?”

“Yes,” Balthazar confirms. “The only possible way for a human soul to reemerge from Heaven is by the hand of an archangel. And even then, it’s against the rules.”

“But we’re gonna have Gabriel on our side, right?”

“That’s only if Sam is able to find him. And we don’t even have a guarantee that Gabriel will agree to help. If he does, he’ll be risking capture by Michael and Raphael—Gabriel may be a tricky bastard, but his two older brothers definitely could get the better of him,” Balthazar says.

Castiel glares down at the bedspread. The bathroom door opens, and James steps out in a pair of sweatpants, toweling off his hair as he crosses the room to look for a shirt.

“Look, Castiel, if you think you’ll be able to get into Heaven without being captured by the angels that Dean wants to keep away from you, you’re insane. Heaven is the angels’ playground—you know that, don’t you?” Balthazar says, trying to catch Castiel’s eye.

“What?” James says sharply. “Cas, what is he talking about?”

“I need to go to Heaven,” Castiel says. “Dean is imprisoned there, and I don’t know what they’re going to do to him.”

“How do you—I mean, we knew that already,” James says. “You weren’t this determined twenty minutes ago.”

“He fell asleep and entered Dean’s dream,” Balthazar explains.

“You _what?_ How did you manage to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. “I just know that he’s—he was in pain when the dream ended. I need to go to him, need to get him out of there.”

“It’s not doable, not with just us,” Balthazar says. “We need more power. That’s why we need to wait for Sam to come back, see if he can bring Gabriel with him.”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “That sounds—”

“I can’t just _sit_ here,” Castiel says through gritted teeth, finally looking Balthazar in the face. “You know Heaven, don’t you? You can be my guide.”

Balthazar sighs explosively. “When I left Heaven, I had no intention of ever returning. Besides, a fate worse than death awaits me if they find out that I’m still alive.” He starts pacing, though, which means he must be considering it, and that gives Castiel hope.

“I’m going to do this, with or without your help. So if you want what’s best for me, you’ll come with me.”

“Oh, Christ,” Balthazar says. “I’m only looking after you as a favor to Sam and Dean. I don’t even—”

“What would you say to them if you let us go on our own?” James says.

Castiel looks at his brother. “You’re not coming with me.”

“Yes, I am. Do you really think I’m going to let you go up there on your own? You’re gonna need someone to watch your back, especially if Balthazar doesn’t go with you,” James says.

“James—”

But Castiel stops talking because Balthazar has suddenly stilled, drawing a quick, surprised breath. His eyes go wide, and he looks worried, afraid.

“What is it?” James asks hesitantly.

“Castiel just dreamwalked into Dean’s head—angels might be coming this way. I think… it’s been some time, but I think I feel them coming,” Balthazar says, standing deathly still.

“Oh, shit,” James says, thrusting his towel down on the bed and grabbing the duffel bags as Castiel shoots to his feet. “We’ve gotta go, then, right?”

“Not yet,” Balthazar says, but he’s still not moving. “Remain calm. When the angels find us, they’ll need about twenty seconds to break through the wards that Sam placed around this room. When they finally enter, one of you must put your palm on the sigil that Sam drew on the closet door. Afterwards, get in the car and drive away from here, as fast as you possibly can.”

Castiel goes over to the closet, sliding the door closed to reveal the sigil. “This one,” he says, to confirm.

“Yes. Don’t touch it yet,” Balthazar warns. “I’ll need to find you, though, so can you just go due north from here? I’ll catch up with you when I can.”

“Won’t you be coming with us?” James asks, moving closer to the door.

There’s a violent-sounding crash then, and Balthazar says, “That’ll be them.”

Castiel lifts his hand, ready to press it to the sigil. “What is this going to do, Balthazar?” he asks.

“There’s no time to explain. Please, be careful. Sam will tear me apart if he discovers that I’ve lost you,” Balthazar says urgently.

“But why aren’t you coming with us? Is this some sort of a distraction, what?” James demands.

“Just keep driving—don’t stop until you’re at least several hundred miles from here.”

“Why—” Castiel starts, but two angels appear in the room, between Balthazar and James.

“Wait!” Balthazar bellows, startling Castiel into freezing before he can press his hand against the sigil. A third angel appears, this one only two feet from Castiel, and as Balthazar barks, “Now!” Castiel closes the last few inches between his hand and the door.

With a burst of light and an anguished scream, each angel vanishes.

“What the fuck…” James murmurs.

“C’mon,” Castiel urges, racing out of the room and dragging his brother along with him. They get into the car, shove the bags into the backseat, and get on the highway as fast as they can, heading north.

They don’t stop the car until they’re three states away, because they’re both getting tired, and maybe they should find a place and stay put, if Balthazar is to find them. Castiel has the sigil memorized, so he slices into his arm and uses the blood to draw it on the closet door here.

Castiel and James agree to sleep in shifts, with the conscious brother staying close to the closet door in case any angels show up. Castiel volunteers to stay up first, since he already had a nap while James was in the shower.

A few hours later, James wakes to trade places, and Castiel goes to lie down. He doesn’t want to sleep, too afraid of the dreams he might have, but exhaustion eventually wins out, and he drifts off.

* * *

Castiel screams in pain under the Alastair’s whip as it lands on his chest yet again. He’s on the rack, bound in place by Alastair’s sheer will, which is probably even worse than ropes or chains because it highlights exactly how helpless Castiel is in this place. This is Alastair’s domain, and Castiel can do nothing to help himself.

He screams when the whip lands again, again.

It hurts, it _hurts_ , and when he lets his head loll forward, he sees his torso lashed open, chunks of flesh hewn apart, red and meaty and raw. In a moment of insanity, Castiel laments that he’s never gonna be able to eat meat again.

Yeah, that’d be a concern if eating meat were even a possibility here in Hell.

And then a bright light descends around them, circling and then enveloping Alastair. The light intensifies to the point that Castiel has to shut his eyes or risk losing them. Then there’s a shriek of pain, followed by darkness.

The metallic scent of blood still permeates the air, and the pain is still very much present, but it’s blessedly dark, and the torment seems to have ended.

Maybe Alastair is dead, Castiel thinks with glee.

He opens his eyes and sees Dean standing above Alastair’s body, lifeless on the blood-coated floor. The angel rushes to his side, eyes filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

Castiel huffs, unamused. “What do you think?” he responds.

Dean looks genuinely confused for a moment before reaching out to touch his fingers to Castiel’s chest. Castiel hisses in anticipation of pain, but when it doesn’t come, he looks down. His chest is no longer the stomach-turning mass of ripped-apart flesh that it was before, fixed up so well that not even a scar remains.

“You’re in a dream,” Dean says.

“Oh, fantastic,” Castiel says dryly—it doesn’t hurt any less when he’s in a dream, and he still feels echoes of the torture even now. “Why won’t you wake me up?”

Dean sighs. “I can’t find you,” he says. “I marked you to protect you from the others, but there’s no way for me to get around the sigils either, which means I have to find you the hard way.”

Castiel blinks. “So even if you don’t know where I am, you can speak to me in a dream?” he asks.

“Yes,” Dean says.

“How are you even here?” Castiel asks. “I thought you were being tortured by—”

“I was,” Dean interrupts. “I don’t have much time—she left a short while ago, and I’ve been waiting for you to fall asleep. I don’t know when she’ll be back, but I just—if I can manipulate the bond, maybe I can spring myself outta here, through you.”

Castiel can guess at what Dean needs to know to carry out whatever plan he’s formed, but he remembers what Sam told him before and holds his tongue before he can give away his and James’s location. “The human mind is vulnerable,” he recites. “I can’t tell you where I am.”

“No,” Dean agrees. “That’d be—dangerous. We don’t know who could be listening.”

“But the bond,” Castiel says. “You can use the bond to find me, since you have the right… parts.” He narrowly avoids mentioning that Balthazar was the source of this information—if anyone could be eavesdropping, then Castiel needs to ensure that he doesn’t provide any information on the rogue angel.

“Yes, I could,” Dean says, looking up and down Castiel’s body.

Castiel follows his gaze and realizes that he’s still pinned to the rack, and though his entrails are no longer hanging out, chest no longer flayed open, he’s still completely bare. It’s strange that he’s still being restrained, so Castiel immediately tries to imagine himself coming off the rack. But his will does nothing to change the dream.

Dean’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Castiel’s eyes fly up to meet his.

Something’s wrong.

“Dean,” he says thinly, trying to mask the fear that’s rising in his chest.

“Castiel,” Dean breathes, leaning in, and—

And Castiel jerks his head to the side, away from the impostor. Not-Dean goes with an expression of surprise and hurt, backing away slightly and trying to catch Castiel’s eye. But Castiel won’t fall for this ploy, not when he’s already seen through it.

“You’re not Dean,” he says, suddenly furious.

“What do you—”

“You may as well give up the imitation. I know you’re not him.”

Not-Dean watches him for a moment longer, but then the hurt, confused look drops away, and he smirks, amused. “You’re good, I have to give you that,” he says. “I can see why you’ve inspired such loyalty in him.”

“In whom?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” Not-Dean says. “Dean. You’ve really done a number on him, you know that? He’d almost rather die than succumb to my treatment.”

Ah. “Naomi,” Castiel guesses. “You’re Naomi.”

“Oh,” Not-Dean says after a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re _very_ good.”

“No,” Castiel responds. “I just have good sources.”

Naomi smiles, but it looks unnatural on Dean’s face, and Castiel has to avert his gaze. “You really are something, aren’t you?” she says. “The Righteous Man. Destined to save the world.”

“Why are you calling me that?” Castiel asks. Balthazar used the same title for him, but no one ever explained why. “Why does Dean seem to think I am in danger, when he was the one who was sent to tell me that God had ‘work’ for me?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Naomi says, stepping to the side in an attempt to get Castiel to look at him—her? “You see, Dean—”

“Just…” Castiel interrupts, closing his eyes, “could you change your appearance? I’ve seen through your ruse, so there’s no point in it anymore.”

“Oh, of course. I should have known it would make you uncomfortable,” Naomi says, still in Dean’s voice.

But when Castiel opens his eyes again, a woman stands before him, dressed smartly in a gray suit over a white shirt. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she looks like the very personification of rigidity, efficiency, and pragmatism.

“Better, I expect,” Naomi says calmly. “Now, as I was saying, Dean is… he’s always been problematic. All of this paranoia is unnecessary. He thinks that he found out some great secret, but there’s nothing to be worried about. We are on the right path, and you will be ready to stop the apocalypse when it comes.”

“I thought I was supposed to stop the apocalypse _before_ it happened,” Castiel says.

“Well, either way, you’ll be ready. If you cannot stop the seals from breaking, you will be prepared to fight and defeat the Devil,” Naomi says.

That sounds absolutely ridiculous, and Castiel says so.

“Perhaps it sounds ridiculous to you, but we believe you have that power.”

“I’m just a regular guy,” Castiel says, shaking his head. “You can’t—I’m not special. I’m not even all that righteous, to be honest.”

Naomi frowns at him. “You _are_ the Righteous Man,” she insists. “Dean has lost sight of his mission, as well as yours, and he has attempted to poison your mind with his misguided beliefs. Tell me where you are, and I will help you. I know that Sam has come to you, possibly misled by Dean. The two angels have spent a long time together, and Sam is more receptive to Dean’s errant behavior.”

Castiel clenches his jaw. “What is the mission that Dean lost sight of, then?” he asks.

“God’s mission, of course.”

“Which is, specifically, what?”

“I am not at liberty to say it,” Naomi responds, which is just about what Castiel expected.

“Then I’m _not at liberty_ to tell you where I am,” Castiel says. Before the angel can speak, Castiel hurries to say, “It’s your word against Dean’s. How do I know that you’re the one telling the truth? Dean’s the one who pulled me out of Hell, not you. If I should believe anyone, it should be him.”

Naomi smiles sadly. “Dean did us a great service by raising you from Hell, but I believe that act was what tainted him,” she says. “You see, he had strange ideas and started straying from the path in the past, but he never would have acted on them, not until he raised you.”

“What, so I’m the reason why Dean is screwed up?”

“It is not your fault, naturally,” Naomi is quick to say. “But Dean saw your soul and was tempted to claim it—I understand completely, as your soul truly _is_ a remarkable sight.”

That’s a weird thing to say, and Castiel has the sense that he’s just been complimented, somehow.

“The ‘bond,’ as you refer to it, is actually his claim on your soul,” Naomi continues. “I am unsure how far that claim has extended between the two of you, but judging by the lengths to which Dean attempted to go to keep you hidden from us, he already started displaying possessiveness over you, before we realized the danger and took him away.”

Dean _did_ seem possessive the last time Castiel saw him, before he was captured. “Danger?” Castiel says. “What do you mean?”

“Claims need to be made from both sides before they can be considered fully formed. Since you’re human, you cannot claim him. Dean would have gotten more and more forceful with you, until you claimed him in return. But since you’re human, you don’t have that capability,” Naomi says.

That makes no sense, Castiel thinks. Balthazar would have said so, if that were the truth. Wouldn’t he? Naomi appeared in disguise, which means she intended to deceive him from the start, which in turn means that he shouldn’t believe anything she says.

“We were worried that he would hurt you, so we had to separate him from you.”

“All right, let’s say that I believe you,” Castiel says. “What is happening to Dean, right now?”

“He is being reformed,” Naomi answers. “He needs to be reminded that he cannot claim a human soul, and that you are not… _his_. And when he has seen the truth, he’ll return and remove his mark from your body. Incidentally, where _is_ the mark that he left on you?”

Castiel frowns at Naomi—he’s still strung up right in front of her, so she should be able to see the brand, clear as day. But when he looks at one shoulder, and then at the other, he finds that they’re both bare. In fact, no scars at all are on his body. It makes sense—when he was still in Hell, he didn’t have Dean’s mark, so it stands to reason that his subconscious would have left the mark off.

“Why do you want to know that?” Castiel asks.

“I suppose I’m curious,” Naomi says.

But it can’t be that simple—nothing about this situation is simple. He already feels that Naomi cannot be trusted, whether or not everything she’s told him seems to make sense. She started the dream by trying to lie to him, trying to get his location from him. Perhaps that’s what this is about.

“You could use the bond to find me,” Castiel says. “And when you were masquerading as Dean, you attempted to get my location from me.”

“Now, Castiel—”

“Why do you want to know where I am so badly?”

“I just want to make sure that you’re safe,” Naomi says. “Sam could be looking for you. We know from experience that he works with Dean, so—”

“If everything you said is true, then there’s nothing wrong with me being around Sam. If Dean really has ‘claimed’ me, as you say, he wouldn’t want any harm to come to me, so Sam would only protect me, not harm me,” Castiel reasons. “So why do you _really_ want to know where I am?”

“We don’t know Dean’s motives, nor do we know Sam’s. They could be compromised—their time on Earth has brought them into contact with demons, and—”

“This doesn’t fit with the rest of your story,” Castiel interrupts. “Why would they go through the trouble of rescuing me from Hell if they were working with the demons?”

Naomi opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“What is God’s _plan_ , for me?” Castiel asks. “Tell me that, and maybe I’ll believe your story isn’t bullshit.”

“You’re going to save—”

“—the world. Yes, I’ve heard that,” Castiel says impatiently. “Save the world, _how?_ ”

Naomi looks frustrated, but after a moment, her expression turns to sadness. Castiel isn’t sure how believable it is, but he doesn’t interrupt when she begins to speak. “I was afraid of this,” she says. “His beliefs have taken hold too strongly with you. But we will find you, and we will fix you, too, when we’re finished with him.”

“ _Fix_ me? Oh, that makes me want to believe you,” Castiel says. “If you’re in the right, then no _fixing_ needs to be done. If you’re in the right, you should be able to convince me that you’re telling the truth.”

“Dean’s influence is too strong on you,” Naomi says, eyes lowered. “Until next time, Castiel.”

Before Castiel can protest, he jolts awake.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I was thinking about where the story would go after this chapter, and because I for some reason cannot write anything remotely related to S4 without turning it bloody and horrible, there is the **possibility** of this fic's rating getting bumped up to Explicit, with a dubcon/noncon element. I say that it's a possibility because if enough of you don't want it to happen, then I'll keep that part out. So uh, comment if you have an opinion either way, but if you don't say anything, I'll probably go through with it.
> 
> *whispers* We're headed down a dangerous road, readers, and I'm not sure where it leads.

They wait through the night, but there’s still no sign of Balthazar in the morning. This leaves James and Castiel with the pesky decision of whether they should continue northward, stay put, or just travel in any random direction.

“I want to call Amelia,” James says.

“You may as well give up the charade and call her Ruby, now that the truth is out,” Castiel says, annoyed.

“Whatever. I still want to call her.”

“No. Didn’t you say she was scared of angels anyway? What could she possibly to do help us against something she’s already terrified of?” Castiel reasons. “We should call John instead, because he’s always been there for us. And oh, right, he’s _not a demon_.”

James looks like he wants to argue, but he just tosses his phone onto his bed and folds his arms across his chest. “Fine.”

Castiel chooses to ignore his brother’s petulance in favor of pulling out his own phone and scrolling down to John’s number.

“I was just thinking about calling you,” John says when he picks up.

“Oh,” Castiel says, surprised. “Why?”

“Well, I might need a bit of backup on a case,” John answers. “So, do you boys have Halloween plans?”

“Depends. We’re in a bit of a sticky situation ourselves, at the moment. Where are you?”

“Pensaukee, Wisconsin,” John replies. “You boys okay?”

Castiel grabs a notepad sitting on the nightstand and gestures for James to find him a pen. “Just a bit of uh, angel trouble,” Castiel says into the phone. “We’re safe for now, though.” He takes the pen that James offers him and asks, “Again, where in Wisconsin?”

“Pensaukee,” John repeats, and Castiel writes it down before passing the notepad to James—he knows what to do. “I’m after a pretty damn powerful witch right now. I should be able to track him down on my own, but I figured it’d be best to get some backup before going in.”

“A witch, huh,” Castiel says.

“Yeah. Working a ritual to raise a powerful demon called Samhain.”

“Anything special about this demon?” Castiel asks as James gestures for him to join him by the table, where he’s got his laptop open.

“He’s supposedly the origin of Halloween,” John says. “But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is stopping this witch before he can do it. You boys in or out?”

“Give me a second,” Castiel responds, looking at the map that James has pulled up. Pensaukee, WI just so happens to be directly north of Olney, IL, which is where they are currently located. So Castiel answers, “We’re in. We can be there in about eight hours.”

“Great. Gives me enough time to verify who the witch is. Just make sure you get here before Halloween, all right?”

“Got it.”

“And tell me about the angels, when we’re through with this hunt,” John says.

“I will,” Castiel promises, and hangs up the phone.

“What’s up?” James asks. “Is John okay?”

“He’s fine. We’re going to join him on a case,” Castiel says, collecting a few stray items and packing them away. “If the angels are looking for us, the last thing they’ll expect us to be doing is working a case.”

“All right,” James says, getting his own duffel bag and putting his laptop away. They exit the room together, heading toward the car. “So, a witch and a demon,” James says as they thrust their bags into the trunk. “Wanna tell me what to expect?”

* * *

The sun’s just beginning to set when the Singers find John’s motel in Pensaukee. He lets them in, immediately shutting the door after them, and after taking one look at the room, Castiel knows why: the walls are covered in notes, newspaper clippings, lines drawn to connect clues. He’s seen John at work before, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, honestly.

James whistles. “Okay,” he says. “Have you figured out where the witch is?”

“Not yet, but I’m pretty sure the ritual can only be happening in one of two places. One is a high school classroom— _very_ unlikely—and the other is a funeral parlor. Seeing as the demon he’s trying to raise is the origin of Halloween, I think it’s safe to choose the funeral parlor.”

“Makes sense. When are we heading out?” Castiel asks.

“We have some time,” John says. “They can’t perform the ritual ‘til midnight, and right now, it’s not even past seven yet. So why don’t you two tell me what kind of angel trouble you’ve run into?”

Castiel looks to James, only to find his brother looking right back at him, so he says, “You remember Dean, right?”

“The angel who raised you from Hell.”

“Yeah. He’s uh, been taken prisoner by Heaven,” Castiel says.

John’s brows furrow. “But he’s an angel. Why would he—”

“We don’t have all the details,” Castiel cuts in. “All I know is that he apparently didn’t like God’s plan for me, so he tried to hide me from all the other angels. I didn’t figure anything was wrong until two of his… friends showed up and added sigils to James, and to the car.”

“There are sigils on you and your brother?” John says, frowning. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel confesses. “The angel just said that he had to ‘mark’ us.”

“Mhmm,” John says skeptically. “That all sounds suspicious. How much do you trust Dean? Because I can’t see it as a good thing, him choosing to go against God.”

“It isn’t really against God,” Castiel is quick to say. “The angels said that they haven’t ever met God.”

“Heaven’s apparently a bureaucracy,” James adds.

“But these were still Dean’s friends that you talked to, right?” John asks. When Castiel nods, he says, “How do you know they can be trusted, then? What if Dean’s wrong, and they’re following his lead?”

“Dean raised me from Hell,” Castiel says. “Forgive me if I think that makes him trustworthy.”

“But it doesn’t,” John argues. “We already know that he was doing it on orders, so it wasn’t even something he did because he wanted to. Now he’s hiding you from his superiors because he thinks he knows better—did he even give you a concrete reason why he didn’t like God’s plan for you? What _is_ God’s plan?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, frustrated. “If I could get a straight answer out of anyone, I’d be able to tell you, but no one’s said anything more specific than _stopping the apocalypse_ , which is… laughable.”

“You’re wrong,” a foreign voice says, and Castiel spins to face the door, realizing as he takes in the two new arrivals—one man and one woman—that he and James neglected to put up the angel-banishing sigil when they came into this room.

“Who the hell are you?” John barks. It seems he’s more prepared than James and Castiel, or perhaps just more foolish, because he’s got a shotgun locked and loaded, aimed at the intruders.

“Your role in stopping the apocalypse is not laughable,” the man continues. “In fact, it is vital.”

“How the hell did you find us?” James asks.

“Ah, Jimmy Singer,” the man—or rather, angel in a man’s skin—says, “the boy with the demon blood.”

“Who are you?” Castiel asks.

“I am Hester,” the woman says. “This is Uriel, my associate. We are truly sorry about all the trouble and confusion that Dean has caused.”

“What are you talking about?” John asks.

When neither angel answers immediately, Castiel takes a step closer to them. “What do you want from me?” he asks, directing his words toward the girl-shaped angel because she looks a hell of a lot friendlier than her “associate.”

“We only want to help you fulfill your destiny,” Hester replies.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Castiel asks.

Hester looks sad when she opens her mouth to respond, but Uriel cuts her off. “You are fated to prevent the Devil from rising,” he says. “And if you fail in that endeavor, then you will be the one to defeat him. Is that too difficult for your primitive brain to comprehend?”

“ _Uriel_ ,” Hester says admonishingly.

“And for the record, we were not actually looking for you—we found you by accident,” Uriel finishes. He meets Hester’s eyes then and lowers his head, deferring to her.

“If you weren’t looking for us, then what are you doing here?” James asks.

“We’re here to save a seal from breaking,” Hester replies. After a pause, she says, “I believe it happens to be the same case that John here is working on. Have you located the witch?”

“Oh, now that I could have information for you, you’re willing to acknowledge my existence?” John says, raising one eyebrow defiantly.

“We want the same things,” Hester says placidly. “You want to prevent the rise of Samhain. We want to save this seal. Why can’t we help each other?”

“How about because you’re all a bunch o’ dicks?” James says.

“Watch it there, mud monkey,” Uriel says.

Castiel’s eyes widen slightly at the insult—it’s certainly nothing he’s ever heard before. But instead of acknowledging it, he says, “We have an idea of where the witch could be carrying out the ritual, but we won’t tell you unless you tell me what your superiors want with me. And don’t you _dare_ repeat that shit about fulfilling my destiny, or so help me, I _will_ find a way to end you.”

“We’re wasting our time here,” Uriel says to Hester.

“At present, all they would like is a chance to speak with you, face to face,” Hester says.

“Yeah? I think I’d like to have a talk with whoever’s in charge, too,” Castiel responds. A quick glance at his brother reveals that James is anxious about the turn that this conversation has taken.

“After the seal has been saved, we can take you up to Heaven,” Hester offers.

“How exactly are you going to save this seal?” John asks, eyes narrowed.

“We will kill the witch who is attempting to raise Samhain,” Hester says simply. “Tell us where he is.”

“You can’t just find him with your normal angel powers?” James says.

“He is hidden from us, in the same way that you are,” Hester says, turning calm eyes on James. Then she says, “Tell us where he is so we can do what we came here to do.”

John meets Castiel’s eye, and it’s clear he’s going to trust Castiel’s decision on this.

But before Castiel can say anything, a familiar figure materializes in front of him, standing between the humans and angels in the room.

“Ah, Sam,” Hester says. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same to you,” Sam says. “Why are you on Earth?”

“Haven’t you heard? We have orders to stop seals from breaking. Mingling with mud-dwellers, unfortunately, is part of the process,” Uriel says, nose wrinkling in disgust. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you missed the news—word is, you might be joining Dean, soon.”

“I’ve disobeyed no orders,” Sam responds evenly.

“True,” Hester says. “Well, we’ve all got orders to bring the Righteous Man to Heaven. Since Uriel and I are otherwise tasked at the moment, can we entrust you with his safe passage?”

“Now hold on just a minute. Are we discussing _killing_ my brother, right now?” James says, moving forward. Sam immediately shifts one step over, extending one arm to block James’s progress, and Castiel is grateful for his interference—Uriel looks like he would love to have someone to smite right about now, and James is a likely candidate.

“ _We_ are discussing nothing, _human_ ,” Uriel says. It seems he’d like to go on, but he’s silenced again by a sharp look from Hester.

“He’ll only be dead for the length of time required for him to speak with our superior, and then he will be returned to his body, good as new,” Hester responds.

Yeah. _That’s_ reassuring.

“Dean is my partner,” Sam says impassively. “It is only right that I take on his charge while he is away.”

“Good,” Hester says with a smile. “I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

“They already do,” Sam responds.

A look of surprise flickers across Hester’s face, but she masks it quickly. Turning her gaze upon John, she says, “Tell us where the witch is.”

“Funeral parlor. There’s only one in town—you can’t miss it,” John says.

In the blink of an eye, the angels are gone. James lets out a sigh of relief, and Sam turns around to face the humans in the room, but John’s still holding up his shotgun, this time trained on Sam.

“It’s all right, John—we can trust him,” James says, gesturing toward the giant of an angel.

John lowers his gun, but he continues to look at Sam warily. “You still gonna kill Cas?”

“I might have to,” Sam says quietly. “I promise I’ll get him back to his body in one piece.”

“Oh, no, you—” John starts.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, holding John back from Sam. “I needed this to happen, anyway.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” John demands.

Castiel looks over at his brother. “You’ll explain everything to John, won’t you?” On the car ride over, he told James about the bit of time that Naomi had spent in his head, trying to mess with him, and they’d agreed not to trust her. They’d also agreed that they would need to get into Heaven to free Dean.

“Yeah,” James says. Glancing at Sam, he says, “I’m guessing you’re not gonna let me come with.”

“I would if I could, but… well, we’ve only got one ‘Get Out of Heaven Alive’ card, and it’s got Castiel’s name written on it,” Sam says. “Sorry.” Then he says, “I’m going to do this as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

But as he’s speaking, he moves toward the wall, gesturing for John and James to pay attention to what he’s doing. He drags two fingers over the wall, a line of black paint following their motion, and it takes a moment for Castiel to realize that he’s drawing some sort of warding sigil.

When he’s finished, he says, “There. This makes it so that angels can’t listen in on us. Memorize it—you’re gonna want to get out of this place before you talk about what’s going on, and when you do stop to talk, put this up on the wall. Regular spray paint will work just fine.”

“What about Cas? Do we take him with us?” James asks.

“Yes. Definitely. We don’t want anyone else to end up with his body,” Sam answers.

There’s a brief pause, the four occupants of the room looking back and forth between each other, and then Castiel says to Sam, “If that’s all, I guess all that remains is for you to kill me.”

Sam nods jerkily. “Yeah. Right, okay.” He steps closer and lifts a hand but hesitates when it’s at about chest height. “Do you—I mean, do we need a plan of some sort?”

“Do you think we need one?” Castiel returns.

“Well—it’d be helpful, don’t you think?” James says.

“You don’t know what Heaven looks like— _I_ don’t know what Heaven looks like. How am I supposed to formulate a plan?” Castiel reasons. Turning to Sam, Castiel says, “Unless you think we have enough time for a lesson in Heaven’s geography, we’re going to have to improvise.”

Sam nods. “All right. Close your eyes.”

“Good luck,” James says, clapping a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. John nods from behind James, and Castiel nods back before facing Sam and closing his eyes.

* * *

Castiel wakes disoriented, with a strange, light feeling traveling through his limbs. Sitting up, he sees— _oh god_ —his old room, from when he was four years old and everything was right in the world. Bracing himself for the worst, he is completely caught off guard when the door swings inward to reveal his mother, as beautiful as he’d always remembered.

“Cas, darling, what are you doing still in bed?” she says, smiling a little. “C’mon. It’s your daddy’s birthday. Didn’t you say you wanted to help me with the peach cobbler?”

This is a dream that Castiel has never had before, but he’s not about to start protesting, not when his mother is right in front of him and waiting, so he hurries to kick off the covers and get to his feet. “Mom,” he manages, voice thick with emotion.

But she just smiles and takes his hand, leading him out of the room. “If you’re not gonna help me, you can at least keep an eye on Jimmy,” she says as they go down the stairs and over to the kitchen.

Jimmy is in the downstairs crib—which was Castiel’s old crib, since they’d gotten a new one for Jimmy when he was born—and he immediately gurgles when he sees Castiel, eyes bright with excitement. Castiel immediately goes to Jimmy and lifts him out of the crib, cradling him carefully in his arms, and it’s amazing to see those wide, blue eyes gazing back up at him, that small mouth split open in a sunny smile.

“Cas!” Mother scolds, appearing suddenly and snatching Jimmy from his arms. “You be careful with your little brother, all right? You could drop him.”

That sounds familiar enough to Castiel that he—he remembers this, remembers what he’d said in response— _I won’t drop him, Mommy_.

Castiel is frozen in place, hasn’t said a word, but Mother steps closer anyway, just the way Castiel remembers she had. She brushes a hand through his hair, gentle, before saying, “I know, baby. You’ll always make sure Jimmy’s safe and sound, won’t you?”

“I will,” Castiel says.

Mother had bent down to kiss his forehead then. Now she leans up, and Castiel lowers his head a little to make his forehead easier for her to reach. Then she spins away, crossing the kitchen to open up a cupboard, and Castiel turns away from her, unsure whether or not tearing up in front of her will end the memory altogether.

But through blurred vision, he sees someone who doesn’t belong here, someone who looks—vaguely familiar. As though Castiel has—

And then it hits him that this is Sam—this is an angel.

Angels exist. Castiel was in Hell, and then he wasn’t, because an angel named Dean pulled him out. And then Dean got himself trapped in Heaven, and Castiel—Castiel agreed to have himself killed to get into Heaven so that he could save Dean.

Castiel is _dead_.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says.

Castiel half-turns to look at his mother, but she’s placed a mixing bowl on the counter, and she’s currently slicing up some peaches.

“She can’t hear us. She’s—”

“Just a memory,” Castiel finishes, tearing his eyes away and trying his best to ignore the way that they’re prickling. He brings the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away the tears from before, and turns to face Sam, ready.

“We can stay a little longer, if you—”

“No,” Castiel interrupts. “Where do we have to go?”

“Not far. I’ll take you.”

“Who are we going to see?”

Sam hesitates. “The order came down from Zachariah—he’s the one we answer to directly, but he wanted you to speak with Naomi,” he answers.

“Can they hear us, right now?”

“No. It takes some time to locate a soul in Heaven because there are so many,” Sam answers. “I only know where you are because I was the one who carried you up.”

This is good news. “So they don’t know where we are,” Castiel says.

“No,” Sam confirms.

Suddenly, Castiel recalls, “Balthazar—”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Sam says. “He went to find me the first chance he got, and I told him to stay clear of all this for a while. He was spotted by the angels that came to get you, and while they probably didn’t recognize him right away, someone will eventually put the dots together and realize that he’s not dead.”

Castiel nods, relieved. “All right. How do we get to Dean from here?”

“I uh, that isn’t wise,” Sam says.

“What the hell do you mean? The only reason why I agreed to come up here was so that I could get Dean and take him back down there,” Castiel says.

“Well… yeah, but even if we went to him, we’d have no way of getting him out.”

“We’ll figure that out when we’re there, then.”

“You do realize that Naomi could be working on him even now.”

Castiel feels his gut clench at the thought, hoping that Dean is all right—that he’ll hold out until they can get to him. Then he says, “While Naomi is talking to me, what will you be expected to do?”

“I’ll probably be on standby, waiting to take you back down to your body.”

“Will there be anyone watching you?”

“Probably not,” Sam answers immediately, and then his eyes widen a fraction. “You don’t mean—”

“I’d be a perfect distraction, wouldn’t I? She appeared to me in a dream last night, and from the way she was talking, she really wants to get her hands on me,” Castiel says.

“There still remains the problem of actually getting Dean out,” Sam points out.

“How would he be restrained?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—are there chains? Is he bound with sigils? I assume the restraints won’t be something that you can’t touch, since angels have to be able to place them on him.”

“Oh. Um, I don’t—I’ve never been in the room, so I don’t know how the restraints work,” Sam says. When Castiel gives him a disbelieving look, he goes on, “Hey, Dean’s always been the one getting into trouble. I’ve followed orders—usually—and besides, I’ve been stationed on Earth. It’s not as though there were an abundance of angels to be restrained down there.”

Castiel sighs. “But… you said that Dean has been punished before. Will he know how to work the restraints?”

“ _Oh_. He might,” Sam says, thoughtful.

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Castiel says.

“But once he and I are out, we’re gonna need to grab you somehow.”

“Or you could just leave me here. They’ll need to return me to my body one way or another, so that I can ‘fulfill my destiny,’” Castiel says, throwing up air quotes. Sam looks uneasy, so Castiel asks, “What’s the worst they could do to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“See? We’ll be fine.”

“No,” Sam says, shaking his head. “No, I mean that there hasn’t been a human brought up here before, with the intent of placing him back into his body. Naomi is only called in when we’re having issues with thought processes of angels, so I can’t imagine what she might do to you. I mean, humans are known for being a whole lot more freethinking than angels, but…”

“It’s fine. I have my conviction.”

“You might need more than that,” Sam says doubtfully.

Castiel huffs impatiently. “It doesn’t matter, Sam. Do you want to get Dean out of here or not? Because I’m not seeing a better option, right now.”

“Dean won’t leave Heaven without you. I know it. We’ve been together for millennia, Castiel, so believe me—he won’t leave knowing that you’re in Naomi’s hands.”

“Then just don’t tell him.”

“And what, lie? I can’t—I couldn’t lie to him if I tried, Castiel. He’d see right through it.”

Castiel clenches his jaw. “So we need a way to get me out of there, after you’ve released Dean.” He shakes his head. “How are we supposed to manage that, though? I have no way of knowing when Dean is freed, and if any angels are nearby, they’ll recognize him and know that he’s free, which I assume would bring the host of Heaven down on us.”

“We just need a bit more time to think about it,” Sam says.

“Sam,” Castiel says, noticing a flash of light coming in from outside, through the sheer curtains behind Sam’s shoulder, “what is that?”

“Shit,” Sam says, turning around. “We need to get outta here, buy ourselves a little more time. C’mon.”

He grabs Castiel’s wrist, and the next time Castiel opens his eyes, he finds himself on a pretty green field, with several white lawn chairs lined up side by side. A few large trees are close by, and near one of them, a man is flying a kite.

“Are we safe?” Castiel asks.

“For now,” Sam says. Pointing behind Castiel, he says, “Let’s get inside, before they catch up.”

Castiel turns around and follows Sam to the white house that’s a short distance away. As they walk, he tries to think his way out of their situation, but he really doesn’t know what they’ll do. All he does know is that he wants to see Dean. But if he is to be the distraction, then he won’t see Dean until they’re out of this mess. Except that they won’t be out of this mess unless Dean leaves Heaven, but Dean won’t leave Heaven without Castiel, and—

“I think I have an idea,” Sam says, interrupting Castiel’s flow of thoughts.

“I’m listening.”

“You’re dead, but technically, your body is still functional, just waiting for you to go back to it. And you’re the Righteous Man, so I’ll bet your body is more than strong enough to accommodate your average angel, so—”

“Are you suggesting… possession? Is that even possible? I mean—can angels possess _souls?_ ”

Sam pauses a moment to think before answering, “Upon taking a vessel, we angels connect with the human soul inhabiting that vessel. And before you ask how Balthazar is using an empty vessel, I don’t know how he’s doing it—he just is. I never thought to try because it wasn’t allowed. Anyway, if Dean could… could connect himself to you, then when they return you to your body, which is something they’ll have to do, Dean will get carried down with you.”

“That actually sounds… doable. But how can Dean connect himself to me?” Castiel asks.

“That’s the easy part. He just has to ask to enter your body, and you just have to say yes. So uh, I guess… after I free him, I’ll explain what’s gonna happen, and we’ll fly straight to you. He’s gonna pop the question, and you’re gonna have to say yes pretty much immediately, because if we’re doing this right in front of Naomi, you can count on her attempting some sort of interference.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But this will be considered an act of rebellion on your part,” he says. “Are you… are you all right with that?”

“Apparently, I’m already on their naughty list just by association with Dean,” Sam says, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t really care, as long as Dean is all right. If he’s ready to rebel, then I will, too.”

Castiel is a bit taken aback by this—he knew that Sam and Dean were close, but he doesn’t think he quite understood _just_ how close until this moment. “The two of you really do have a different relationship than the one between other angels,” he says quietly.

“We trust each other,” Sam says.

“And that’s enough?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then,” Castiel accepts, stepping up to Sam. “Let’s do this.”


End file.
